


Being Human

by sherlockspider



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockspider/pseuds/sherlockspider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier knows nothing but blood, confusion and pain. He is barely human. </p><p>His unique gift is suddenly stolen from and he is forced to do something he never wanted to do: ask for help.</p><p>But when unexpected kindness comes from unlikely sources, he begins to remember what it means to be human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> So I got some amazing kudos and views for my first fanfic! Thanks to all other those who read it :D
> 
> I've decided to restart the story from the beginning because I want to do the whole story, chapter by chapter. I'm not one who is great at writing scene by scene (hence why I posted a random snippet before) so it might take me a bit longer. However, I'm enjoying writing SO much.
> 
> Also, I've used some of the Black Widow comics (Particularly from "Black Widow Part Four: There's no place like home" written by Richard K. Morgan. Which is a wicked series, read it.), and I don't know if thats strictly MCU, so.. yeah.
> 
> Thank you! Any critique is welcome!  
> Your loving Spider
> 
> sherlocksspider.tumblr.com

Rule number one: Always have an exit plan. 

It had been almost too easy to infiltrate the storage compound. He’d only had to break the knees of two adolescent guards, break four locks and hack one inferior model security system to gain access.

He’d traveled to Budapest on what at best was second hand information from a scientist who’d worked for Hyrda back in the 2000’s. 

(2000’s?!)

As he no longer had anyone directing his actions, setting missions for him to follow like an automaton, he’d set himself one. Gather every file, every hand-written instruction and every blue-print related to him. It was a mammoth task. 

His memory of his previous Hyrda missions was sketchy at best, but he knew it had never been up to him to gather information before. He, ‘The Asset’, was only bought in as either a last resort or as the world most elite assassin. Not that a bit of espionage was going to strain him much. 

The day he rescued Captain America from the river, he’d stumbled along the embankment until sundown. He’d used the anesthesia provided in his med-pack on his broken arm. The break, even though clean, was a severe one, and even with his enhanced healing and high pain tolerance, the pain had clouded his mind until he found himself underneath a bridge spitting out mud. 

He’d laid there replaying the scene on the third Project Insight Helicarrier over and over until he’d smashed his palm (the metal one) into his forehead. 

“I- I knew him. I knew… him.” He muttered. “I know him.” 

He stared back to the crash site, now over a mile away. The sky was still lit orange by the flames, and he could hear helicopters flying over, the whoomp-whoomp of their blades mirroring his own heartbeat. 

He was knew Hydra would be expecting him back. He felt the tug of conditioning pulling at his will. 

He could never really make it on his own. He needed Hydra. They were his famil-

“STOP!” He screamed at the black waters below him, before biting down on his metal finger. He wanted to scream until his throat was raw. 

He’d stayed there what seemed like hours. Flashes of the Captains battered face appearing every time he blinked. 

Eventually he’d found a abandoned house to hide in until his health recovered. It was there in that molding house he had come up with his new mission. 

And here he was, staring at row upon row of old files, supposedly belonging to the Government, but in here were some of the oldest Hydra files, dating back to before the War. 

He’d scoped the place already and found no one, but he was still highly alert. The place seemed to be rarely used. Quickly he walked down the aisles, looking for Leontes, K. 

Eventually he found it. Suddenly he was overcome with an emotion he hadn’t felt in a while, uncertainty. Did he really want to look at what that file contained? He looked right and left one last time and pulled the brown paper flip file out in one deft movement. He wasn’t going to look until he was safe, that was the correct procedure. But before he’d realized he was staring down at a photograph of himself. His hair was shorter, and he wore the uniform that was now in the Smithsonian. But his face was contorted, screaming in pain. He was also minus an arm. It must have been taken by one of Zola’s scientists when the bought him in from the fall. He stuggled to swallow, then turned to the next paper. 

“Ne mov’e , Asset.” Said a man’s voice to his left. 

The Solder slowly looked. A small man in a white lab coat was pointing a strange looking handgun at him. 

“Nem kellett volna ide.” The Soldier whispered. He suddenly felt very tired. 

The man appeared to be smiling, “I vártam, hogy jöjjön.” He said gleefully. “I’ve always been a fan. Read everything about you I could get my kezek on”. 

The Soldier frowned. He’d known this was too easy, yet he’d let his guard fall. At least this small man posed no real threat. 

“Do you really mean to make me kill you?” The Soldier turned, put the file in the back waistband of his trousers, and took a step towards the man. He'd worn his mask out of habit, but otherwise he was dressed in head to toe black, his hair loose and his arm covered. 

“Ne gyere közelebb! Stop! Or I shot!” The little man said, quavering. He was no soldier. 

“Menj tovább. Shoot me.” The Soldier was now a few feet away. He could have already taken the little man, but he was enjoying provoking him. He disliked the man and his pitiful weakness. 

The man stepped forward, then took two more steps back, and yet he didn't lower his peculiar gun. 

“Well?” He was now only and arms width away from the man. He swung upwards for the little man, readying to bring his bald head down on his knee.  
But suddenly a brilliant cloud of sparks was dancing along The Soldiers metal arm. The Soldier stared down, finding it unexpectedly dazzling. A vague memory of 4th of July weekend tickled at his memory, before he realized what was happening. His arm was spasmodically clasping and unclasping, the metal plates sliding like waves on the shore. Suddenly, his arm stopped moving altogether./p>


	2. Natasha

The day she left Steve and Sam at Nick’s ‘graveside’, ‘Tasha had walked away with a feeling of freedom. She hadn’t thought of S.H.I.E.L.D. as a weight on her shoulders until it had been lifted. For the first time since… well ever, she was totally in control of her destiny.

Sure she had the remnants of an Hydra on her trail, several KGB assassins to dodge, and a niggling feeling like she’d forgot to pack her toothbrush, but other than that Natasha felt good.

As she sat on the plane headed to Arizona, she let herself order a martini. She’d not drunk for years (marred the sense way too much), but she was celebrating today. She’d booked the ticket under an alias provided by Maria Hill, dyed her hair brunette and worn her ass-kicking boots just to be sure. Nothing (except her damned toothbrush) had been forgotten. She’d picked Arizona on a whim, a vague notion that a handsome rock-climber had once suggested she crash at his. Some normality would do her good. Plus, as she’d told Steve, she needed to figure out a new identity. Perhaps she could even find some self truths out in the brilliant, baking sun.


	3. Steve

Steve and Sam had infiltrated Pierce’s home the same night that ‘Tasha had left them. There wasn’t much to see. Hyrda had already been through all Pierce’s filing cabinets and the locked security box behind and impressive gold statue of Buddah. 

“I told you, man. First thing they’d do was wipe this place.” Sam said as he mopped his brow with the back of his hand. 

Steve sighed and examined a rip in his jacket’s sleeve. “I know, I know. I just needed to resolve an idea I guess”.

“And have you? Resolved I mean?” Sam said.

“I guess so. I mean, I doubt Bucky would have ever even come here. Too close to Pierce’s ‘real’ life I guess. I just thought that maybe there would have been something.”

As they left the impressive 21st structure, Steve was unusually slow walking. 

Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk where they had parked Steve’s Chevrolet. He turned around planted his fists on his hips. 

“We’ll find him.” He said with certainty.

Steve looked up at the night sky. There was too much light pollution to see much of anything. “How can you be so sure? He could be hiding, or he could have been recaptured… he could be dead.” 

Sam laughed mirthlessly “I highly doubt that he’s dead, he’s too good. And I don’t believe Hyrda got him. Why in the hell would he save you if he was still under their control?” Sam walked over and planted a firm hand on Steve’s left shoulder. “We’ll. Find. Him.”

Steve looked at Sam, and slowly nodded once. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Sam let go of Steve’s shoulder and turned back to the car. “Now I hope you know where we’re going next, Cap.”

Steve squeezed himself into the drivers seat, adjusting the seat to fit his long legs, and not Sam’s slightly shorter ones. He then pulled from his bag (which had been on the back seat) the brown manila file Natasha had procured for him. 

“I hope you packed your passport.” Steve said jokingly.


	4. The Soldier

It took him twice the normal time it would have taken for him to reach the relative safety of The Őrség national park, and a abandonded cabin. By then the sun was rising and mist was rolling between the trees. The Soldier pushed the door to, and sat heavily down on the mud caked floor. He ungracefully pulled off the black hoodie he had been wearing leaving nothing but a thin T-shirt between his skin and the biting cold of the forest. 

He looked down at his arm. A faint smell of burning plastic wafted from in between the metal plates. Other than that, nothing was happening. He tried moving his metal fingers with his human hand, but it was like trying to move a marble statues grasp. 

He grabbed at his metal bicep and tried to open the hatch that the Hydra scientists used to reprogram its movements. It didn’t budge. He realised it must need an electrical current to work the mechanism. 

He flung himself in anger back against the cabins wall, making the whole structure groan. Dust fell softly from the ceiling. The Soldier stared unseeing at the door. 

He racked his broken memory, searching to see if this had ever happened before. He had thought his arm impervious, had used it to shield himself from bullets, knives and swords. 

It was then he remembered the gun the scientist had used against him. He reached into the pocket of his discarded hoodie and examined the gun. 

It looked more like a Taser than a bullet firing gun, and seemed to have been a bit of a bodge job, or at least a prototype. It had a yellow handle and had a huge battery pack attached at the bottom. Three wires dangled from the barrel, each with a tiny six pronged end which he had pulled from his arm before taking the scientist out. 

This was made for one job, to stop him. 

Hydra knew he’d be vulnerable if he was truly disabled. Sure, he still had his physical and mental training, but with a useless 100lb bionic arm attached to his shoulder he would be much easier to stop. 

That, The Soldier also realized, meant that Hydra was still fully operational. He wondered who had taken Alexander Pierce’s place as head. 

He shivered. A huge ripple up his spin that made him grit his teeth. He felt cold all over.

He awkwardly pulled his hoodie back on and pulled himself onto the mattress-less cot. His pulled his arm over in front of his body and pulled his legs up into a foetal position. His head was swimming, and an cold ache was spreading from his shoulder down his back. 

He stared out the glassless window for a long time. After what seemed like hours, it began to snow.


	5. Natasha

“So, are you having fun?” said the deep voice on the other end of the line.

“I was until you called, Nick.” Natasha sighed and slumped down onto her bed. She’d just returned from a climb up Queens Canyon and she hadn’t even had time to take off her shoes when her cell rang. 

The voice on the other end barked out a laugh, “Nice to know I’m missed. Did you enjoy that climb?” 

Natasha stiffened. “Nick… are you tracking me? I thought we had an agreement?”

“We do. We do. You stay low profile, I keep outta’ your hair. But you’re not staying low profile… are you?” 

She rolled her eyes at the phone “It was one guy. He was mugging this kid, she was like 15. I couldn’t let it happen just in front of me!”

Nick sighed. “’Tasha… I-“

“Don’t ‘Tasha’ me, Nick. And anyway, I thought you weren’t working in the field anymore? So why are you tracking me?” 

“I follow you because I know the sort of things you get yourself into!” He was getting frustrated now. “Good”, thought Natasha. 

“And I get myself out of them.” She sighed, suddenly deflated. She’d been pushing herself physically ever since arriving in Arizona. Partly to work on her skill set, partly to stop herself from thinking too much. She’d been living as a part-time Climbing Instructor, and had enjoyed the pretense immensely. “What do you need, Nick?” She would always give in to Nick. She would owe him that for the rest of her life.

Nick was silent for a moment, “We found Cap’s shield.”

Natasha sat bolt upright. “Where?” Adrenalin was already pumping into her, the lactic acid working its way through her shoulders.

“Budapest.”


	6. The Soldier

Staying here meant death. He knew that. 

Yet the thought drifted out of his mind as quickly as it had entered. After a moment, he opened his eyes. He must have slept. Great drifts of snow had piled around the trees outside, and the floor of the cabin was dusted with white. 

A wave of nausea and heat washed over him, up his back and down his throat. He groaned and struggled to pull himself into a semi-supine position. His hair was dripping with sweat, his hoodie stuck to his underarm and back. 

Why wasn’t he cold? Doesn’t snow and ice mean cold? He couldn’t remember.

Pain was clouding his mind. It caused him to retch. Nothing but bile rose. He hadn’t eaten in hours… days maybe. 

“What’s the Hungarian for death, hm?” he tried to laugh, but ended up coughing instead. “halál, isn’t it?”. 

But wasn’t that why he was here? 

For death?

It was dark when he opened his eyes next. He had night vision stronger than average but it was still impossible to see anything inside the cabin. He’d fallen awkwardly back onto the cot, his metal arm twisted awkwardly over his body, weighing him down. He lifted his legs over the side of the cot, wincing at the pain flashing down his back from the effort. After several minutes of breathing through the pain he stumbled toward the window, holding onto the cabin walls for support. 

The moon was low, nearing sunrise. He must’ve been unconscious most of the night. Snow wasn’t falling anymore, but sheets of freezing mist were rolling over the snow drifts. 

He was shivering violently and his fingers and toes were numb. 

He had to make a decision. He could do the right thing and stay in the cabin. Payment was due. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go. He’d surely slip into unconsciousness again, then he’d probably die from a shock and a myocardial infarction. 

Or he could be selfish and live.


End file.
